Why should she suffer due to our finances? Surely that wasn’t fair. Out of all the people to find the paintings, maybe it was a sign, fate, that it was me.
I pulled the comforter up, and lay in the dark with my eyes wide open.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, I woke bleary-eyed, having barely slept. My head throbbed from a headache that had taken residence in my temples and slowly increased like someone playing bongos inside my brain. Guilt. It was a guilty headache.
In the light of dawn, I realized the paintings were not mine. Even though Clay had given them to me, he had no idea they were worth so much money, and I would never break his trust like that. It was only my desire to save Mom that tempted me. I’d wait for Adele to call, and then explain the whole story to Clay and he could decide their fate.
I carefully bound all the journals together, and put them in my backpack. They would have to be returned too. They were the missing link, and proof of who Jessup was. I had an inkling Clay would keep his uncle’s secret. He knew better than anyone what it felt like to want to hide out, and I couldn’t imagine him desiring the kind of attention he’d get if he decided to share his uncle’s story.
Besides, his mother had been involved in the cover-up, and I doubted she’d want to be grilled by reporters the world over. She made a promise to her brother, and I respected that. I’d made one with my mom, and as hard as it was I was trying not to break it.
With heavy legs, and a throbbing head, I pulled on some clothes, to head to the farm. Despite everything, I still had to prepare for the Sugaring-Off Festival, so many people were expected to attend. Hopefully being busy would take my mind off it all. A cloak of regret hung around me… Even though no one would ever know, I was disappointed in myself for even thinking of selling the paintings without Clay’s knowledge.
I wasn’t that kind of person.
I crept from the B and B, and headed to the Gingerbread Café. There wouldn’t be many mornings left baking alongside Lil. It was almost time to head to Paris.
***
“So, the jazz band have confirmed,” Lil said, smoothing down her apron. “They’ve waived their fee, since it’s all about celebrating the art of maple syrup.” Lil smiled. “Our social lives are pretty quiet round here, so the townsfolk love this kind of community event. We used to have a lot more on throughout the year, because Janey and Walt were the driving force. Without her things have fallen away, a little.” Her eyes went glassy. “Anyway—” she fanned her face “—this is going to be brilliant for the town, and for the Maple Syrup Farm. Who knows, Walt might actually take up the reins again, after this.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” It was hard not to draw comparisons between Walt losing Janey, and Jessup losing his wife. Jessup never really got over it, so maybe Walt would take a long time. Though, with everyone in town looking after him, things might be different.
“All we have to do then is make the food. Some I’ll do the day before, and the rest we can make fresh that morning.”
I nodded. “Great, Lil.”
She inclined her head. “What? What is it?”
I shrugged, my lip wobbling. For the first time ever I had someone to confide in other than my mom, but the list of things bothering me was so great I didn’t want to burden Lil with it all. “Spill,” she said. “Don’t make me beat it out of you.”
I averted my eyes. Unbeknownst to the entire town, they’d had a famous painter living among them and no one had been any the wiser.
“We all have secrets, Lucy. Some we spread; some we don’t. You know—” Lil leaned close to me “—sometimes, things are kept hush-hush though…depends on exactly what a person’s hiding.” She winked.
I held in a gasp. There was no way she could know about Jessup, or what I had discovered. My cheeks bloomed anyway. “I hope you’re right, Lil, because I almost made a very bad decision. I almost broke Clay’s trust, all because it would help my mom, and now I feel like the world’s worst person.”
“Almost? So you didn’t then?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t but I was sorely tempted.” I wanted to tell Clay about the paintings first, in case he did want the secret kept. That was the least I could do in the circumstances.
“Well, put it out of your mind.” She shook my shoulder. “I think you’re getting upset because you’re leaving soon. Is that what it is?”
The doorbell jangled and CeeCee wandered in. I forced a bright smile and we got back to our to-do list.
Alone, trudging to the farm, I dialed Mom’s doctor. He’d known us for a while and knew we’d avoided the facility. Now I knew where she was, I couldn’t function properly. It was like my life had been flipped upside down and a part of me worried Mom was still keeping something back.
The doctor answered abruptly, “Dr. Hoffley.”
I walked to the shade of a tree and sat down. “Hi, it’s Lucy.”
The doctor sighed good-naturedly. “I’ve been expecting a call from you. I thought it would come with a few choice words, yelled down the line.”
If it was another time I’d laugh. I’d lobbed some curse words at the poor doctor when he’d given me news that seemed so ridiculous that it couldn’t possibly be true. “It’s your lucky day. I’m too tired to be angry.”
He sighed. “Look, Lucy, I know you wanted to avoid the facility as long as you could. I get that, believe me I do. But with your mom, things are going to deteriorate. You won’t be able to care for her, Lucy—”
“Yes I can!”
“Let me finish,” he said softening. “You couldn’t. She’s close to needing round-the-clock care, Lucy. I know you don’t want to hear that, but she needs suctioning, her breathing monitored, all those kinds of things, with machines you don’t have at home. She’ll last longer in care—she will.”
I clenched my jaw, unable to speak. Tears rolled down my face, pulling my knees up, I thought of the bleak future without my mom. It was really going happen, sooner than I thought.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, and I’m sorry, Lucy.” When his voice came back, it was gentle, and I was thankful the doctor was honest with me. It couldn’t be easy for him either. We’d had some battles over the years, but he knew it was because I loved my mom, and it was because I was scared. He’d given me his private cell number once, when we were going away for a weekend, in case anything happened. He was a good guy, and I tried not to call him unless it was an emergency. “How long?” I finally said.
“You know I can’t say, it’s anyone’s guess. Could be a year, maybe two? But with extra nursing help, someone there for emergencies, you’ll have longer with her. I’ve discussed this with Crystal, and she told me about your trip. As hard as it is, I understand why she’s making you do it.”
“A year or two…” I whispered. “What about the people who lives for decades with it? Why not her?”
“She’s a fighter, you know that. Anything could happen. She’s not giving up. She never will.”
“If anything changes, can you call me?”
“Of course. And just think of all the news you’ll bring home with you. That’ll be as good as any medicine for her.”
“Thanks, Doc. For everything.” I hung up, and fell back against the grass, sure I was going to die of a broken heart. Everyone always leaves me.
Roses scented the air from garden beds at the entrance of the farm. Their red heads stood tall and proud, green stems reaching for the sky. Clay stood next to me, wearing his uniform of jeans and no T-shirt. When he stretched to cut back an overhanging branch, I could see why his tan went all the way down. His jeans hung low, and for a moment I was lost, staring at his body, a wondrous and appealing sight, one I’d now run my hands over too many times to count. He moved to the roses, handling them carefully so he wasn’t stabbed by their thorns.
I blinked away my sun-drenched desire and said, “What are you doing?” Their beautiful red petals fluttered to the ground as though the flower was
crying.
“I’m deadheading the roses so more grow.”
My mouth dropped open. “Why? That’s an absolute waste of something so beautiful.” An unreasonable amount of anger coursed through me, and while I knew deep down I was being illogical, I couldn’t help it.
He dropped the stalk. “What?”
“Why should that flower be sacrificed so more can grow? That’s hardly fair on that flower is it?”
He shook his head. “That’s how it goes, Lucy, if you want healthy roses. It won’t be a waste. You can put them in a vase.”
I stood in front of the roses, protecting them. “No, Clay. Don’t cut them.”
He tilted his head. “Are you for real? We’re neatening up the garden, including the flowers…otherwise by Saturday, there’ll be a bunch of half-dead roses on display.”
I folded my arms, not ready to let it go. “They’ll still be half alive.”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Is this even about the roses? What’s gotten into you?”
I double blinked. “I just…I don’t know.” What sense did it make to cut one off because some of petals had begun to brown? Maybe I was being irrational, but it hurt to think of the flower dying earlier than nature intended because it was less than perfect. Truthfully, I was comparing them to my mom. Someone so pretty, so vibrant, cut down in her prime, when she still had so much more to give. Just because she couldn’t cope on her own did that make her less worthy to live? No. So why should anything suffer, even a rose? The call from the doctor had almost ruined me. I couldn’t think through my haze of grief.
I should have told Clay about my mom. My life and my past. But I’d held back, what was the point? I was leaving, and this time I was certain I was. There was no way I’d let anyone leave me again. It was too painful. From now on, I had to protect myself against hurt. Telling Clay would only make matters worse.
“Lucy, you can trust me, you know.” He gazed at me like he knew my secrets, and loved me anyway. When he took me in his arms, I almost crumbled. He sensed it was more than protecting roses. I could trust him, but could he trust me? I let myself relax into his arms and scrunched my eyes closed, feeling grief-stricken and disgusted with myself.
***
Clay made me a cup of coffee and sat across the dining room table, staring so solemnly at me that I almost cried. My heart was awash with so many emotions, it was hard to rein them in and harder to make sense of them.
Everything had built up. My shoulders tensed, my back ached, just like it had when I first arrived at the farm. Though, now the pain was not from physical work, but from holding myself together so tightly, so nothing spilled out.
I was leaving the only guy I had ever loved. I was leaving my mom in a place that I’d vowed she’d never go to. And my new friends. And all the experiences I’d had here. Would they fade over time, the memories? The love, would that dim?
“Lucy,” Clay said leaning forward, staring deeply into my eyes. “Is everything OK?”
I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, Clay.”
He raised an eyebrow. “When a girl says fine, it doesn’t mean fine, it means something is wrong.”
“You’ve had a lot of experience with girls, then, I take it?” I don’t know what made me say it. It’s like I wanted to fight to distance myself from him to make it easier to leave.
He frowned. “Do you want to talk about it, or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Is a guy’s fine the same as a girl’s fine?” I played with the handle of my mug, avoiding eye contact.
He snickered. “No.”
“Right,” I rummaged around my bag, and produced a notebook. “We still have to pick up the chairs, and all the stuff from the community center.”
“I can do that this afternoon.”
“OK, and the decorations…I can pick them up from the grocery store and we can hang them on the day.” I’d found a selection of glass jars with scented tea-lights, hanging on thick twine. We planned to loop them around the branches of the maples, the small candles lit, and safe against the wind, in their glass housings.
Bonnie had found me LED fairy lights too. Clay had fixed wire in a zigzag pattern, and tied it between trees, so all I had to do was twirl the fairy lights around the wire, and they’d shine down on the tables beneath. If the day yawned into night-time, and partygoers stayed, then there’d be enough light for the merriment to continue.
“The food’s being sorted; the jazz band has confirmed. I think that’s about it, then.”
Clay reached out and linked his fingers through mine.
“I’m sure it’ll be bedlam on the day, but for now, that’s all the major stuff done.” So much remained unspoken, but by the look he gave, one full of longing, and a touch of regret, I knew he was marking the festival as a day closer to the end of my stay.
“Lucy…why can’t you tell me what’s wrong? I’ve told you everything about me, and here you are, pretending everything is fine, when you’re all tensed up like you’re about to explode. Do you think I don’t care? Or won’t understand? What’s holding you back from telling me?”
I let his words sink in, toying with spilling the whole damn story.
“I just have to go to the bathroom,” I said. I’d freshen up, and then I’d confide in him. It was impossible carrying these burdens alone, and I wanted to tell him about the paintings, and what I’d discovered. I stood, hitting my knee under the table. “Ouch.” Tears stung my eyes, and I was grateful the bump gave me an excuse for it. “Excuse me,” I said hurriedly. I escaped to the bathroom, and washed my face. I dabbed at my skin with a towel, hearing the buzz of my phone. I scraped my hair back into a ponytail, and rushed out to answer but the sound stopped.
Clay had his finger on the screen. He looked up. “I was trying to hang up,” he said, “That’s the loudest ring tone, I’ve ever heard.” With one last swipe at the screen, he hit the wrong button and a message played.
“Oh, my God, Lucy… The paintings are worth millions. Millions! I do think you should tell Clay. You can’t sell them without him knowing! Anyway, it’ll be a worldwide sensation…” I froze at the sound of Adele’s excitable voice, before my brain caught up, and I hit the end button.
“Clay, I can explain…” He glared at my phone like it was poisonous, before making eye contact with me. My legs almost gave way. His face was contorted with anger, his eyes fierce.
“I trusted you, Lucy!” His words reverberated around the room in a big boom.
My face dropped. “I was going to tell you. I was going to give them back to you. And the journals.” I moved to him, to touch him, cool him down.
“Yeah?” He was so angry he snarled. “I don’t believe you!”
“Clay. Let me explain…”
“I won’t let you do anything!” He smashed a palm down on the table making the contents jump. “So…who was he?” He clenched his teeth so tight, a muscle ticked along his jawline.
Clay didn’t know. His mom had kept her word all those years, even after his death. I wondered if she knew the paintings were here all along. “He was a famous painter called Jeremiah David Sampson. But when his wife died, he died too. He hid out here, for the rest of his life, and never picked up a brush again. Before he disappeared, he took two of his most sought-after paintings from a gallery, and the art world has never given up searching for them. They’re the ones we found in the little shack, and they’re worth a lot of money.” I spoke in a rapid burst, trying to calm him down and convince him.
“And you knew, since when?”
I cringed. “Last night. And I was going—”
“You’re just like them,” he spat. “All you see is dollar signs.”
“I’m not, Clay. I’m really not.” I so badly wanted to take him in my arms, but fury radiated off him. I could almost feel the heat of it.
“So, your friend lied?” He glared. “You never contemplated selling them?” His voice was heavy with do
ubt.
“Well… no. Yes, but I can explain.” He pushed past me and stalked out. I reached for his arm, pulling him back.
“Clay, it wasn’t for the sake of just money. It was for my mother.” He wrenched his arm free. “Can you listen?” My voice was beseeching.
“Your mother? How about my mother? I bet she’d like her own brother’s paintings, don’t you? I gave you those paintings as a gift, Lucy! I can’t get over the fact you weren’t even going to tell me. You were all set to sell them without a goddamn word to me!” His face went puce with anger.
“It was a knee-jerk reaction, Clay.” I threw my palms up. “My mother’s not well. She’s in a state facility and it’s awful. Yeah, I contemplated it! Sure, why wouldn’t I dream of creating the better life for my mom with the time she has left! But I didn’t go through with it! I would never lie to you. I wouldn’t have gone through with it. For one brief moment, it was the answer to my prayers, but I wouldn’t have…I promise you, Clay.” My eyes filled with fresh tears as I faced Clay, his granite expression firmly in place.
“I can explain it better, if you sit down.”
He glowered at me, the full force of his fury hitting me hard. “If your mom is so sick what the hell are you doing here? And then dashing off to Paris? Doesn’t sound as though you’re doing it too tough, Lucy.”
I held a frustrated scream. “I made her a promise, Clay. She wanted me to apply for the Van Gogh Institute, and to start living my own life. She thinks working double shifts in a diner, and then caring for her isn’t living. Reluctantly I agreed. But she did all of that so she could move into the facility while I was gone without me knowing…the thing we’d always promised we’d avoid, because she wants me to be free. She must think it’s an obligation to care for her. We can’t afford a better place, one where she’ll have correct treatment. She’s got ALS, Clay, so no matter what, she’s not going to get better. But I wanted her to have at least some quality of life and she won’t get it where she is now.”
Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm Page 22
